


What do they want in exchange for forgiveness?

by carefulfleshgnawer



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Depression, Gen, almost-suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfleshgnawer/pseuds/carefulfleshgnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guilt does odd things to the mind. Makes you see things, believe things, imagine things. It make you heavy. Sometimes, it make up solutions to itself, that are really just making things worse or running away. Turns out, if one were to be pulled out such a delusion, the`re left in a world, that to them, seems.... distorted (post Solomon`s temple, altair-centric)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What do they want in exchange for forgiveness?

**Author's Note:**

> I believe Altair regrets what he`s done. But how deep does it hurt, when you know it`s your fault that an entire life`s been destroyed? Let alone, if the life destroyed is one of someone dear to you?

_It would sting, should you blink, should you try to escape._

It was on replay in his head. That single thought, as he sat, huddled in a corner. With each passing day, each passing minute, it seemed that the things happening were the opposite of what they could have been, _should have been._

He had been let out of the cell, he`d been able to feel sunlight on his skin again. He`d been here, but he`d been dying. The man he had once considered his best of friends now hated him with a burning passion. And as the hateful figure would raise his hand, wrap his strong hands around a already constricted throat, would slam Altair against a wall with bone shattering force, knocking air and resistance out of him, would yell again and again and again about how much _he lost_ , how much the other had _taken_ , how he would never be whole again, he would be so full of frustration and rage and grief and-

he would _never listen_. He would never hear, never give Altair even the chance to speak. He wouldn`t give a chance at forgiveness, though Malik would keep repeating:"You were my brother, I would like to forgive, but you`ve yet to give me a reason to, you`ve yet to change"

But Altair wasn`t a proud eagle any more, soaring above everyone, everything else. Altair had never _been_ an eagle, oh, he was sure now. He`d never even been _a bird._

But thanks to Solomon`s temple, even his imaginary feathers had been clipped, and he`d fallen, or more like stumbled, landed face first, because _he`d never even been higher_ _than them_.

And he wouldn`t fight it, he`d think it was what he deserved, that he deserved it all. And there would be no one to tell him it was okay. There`d be no one to soothe him as he would sit in the dark, self loathing, seething at things he`d seethed over for so many nights before.

And he had started getting scared, nervous, unsure of his skill. All the praises, all the compliments of skill were those of another life, there was no one to say "you did well" now, only cold faces with colder eyes, their stares burning, expectant and hateful.

With time the skill of a once-master truly did degrade. His troubled, weary mid had cost him wounds, wins and scars he showed no one. He did`t deserve any pity, but he was sure he would not have gotten any.

But there came a night by the fountain, as the moonlight had seeped through the crystal water, an idea had sprouted at the back of Altairs conscience.

He could repay them. He could ease the suffering of them all. And he could, though cowardly, find a peace. It was so simple, and he was unsure how he had not seen it before.

_Just die._

_It`ll be easier._

_You can escape like the coward you are, the weakling you`ve always been._

_You`ll be doing everyone a favour._

_They`ve been spitting that in your face for ages now._

Oh lords, it`s been so long. So long since touch hadn`t meant a strike. So long since being in a room with his brothers hadn't cause him to bow and hunch, fearful and regretful and ashamed.

It takes a few more days, few more weeks, to decide, he`ll do it. Takes a few more weeks to realize, not, it won`t get better, won`t heal. Cowardice or not, he would commit to this, this was a promise with himself. But came the question of how it was to be done.

He decides to hang. By the red sash that head meant him so much, had been a symbol of his skill, or, should he say, _pride._

He cringes at the very word now, it leaves an inhumanely bitter taste on his tongue, one he can`t swallow or wash away, be it water or fiery alcohol. Sometimes, it feels as if the very word was the bane of his existence, the reason he felt bad, the reason he had mistakes, like it was the only source of negative.

But he knew, the mistakes, the mess-ups, the lives he`d ruined, the lives he`d taken... those were the works of Altair Ibn-La`Ahad, not a simple word, such as "pride".

On a night of full moon came his chance. He laughed a the way he scurried around, in the dark, like a rat, as he tied one end of the sash on a beam. But the chuckles were humourless, dry and his eyes would have betrayed any drop of mirth they might have held.

The noose took longer to tie, he didn`t remember all too well how it was done. Another bitter chuckle at that.

_Can`t even kill yourself without messing it up at some point, can you, birdy?_

In the end, he got the noose knot right and, just as he slipped his head trough it and before his feet left the footing, there was a sound of moving, which made Altair freeze.

There was a shadow of a silhouette standing in the doorway. Altair saw the brown eyes of the man who now hated him, they were confused. Altair also knew he was bathed in moonlight, like a statue to be seen for everyone.

_"...M.a..l.i...k..."_

The word felt wrong on his tongue and he couldn`t _will_ himself to breathe. There was something wrong with this picture, Malik was supposed to be happy about this, he should have been mirthful, why was it there?

Why was there such confusion in his eyes?

The confusion soon turned to appal.

Malik was rushing over to him now, he quickly jumped to where the other stood, with ease that was unexpected from a handicapped person.

MAlik removed the noose from Altair`s neck and untied it from the beam. Altair watched the red fabric flutter slightly, though he wasn`t sure if from a wind. The way it slipped loose from it`s place by Malik`s fingers had a strange, calming effect on him. Once untied, just like that, Malik held the fabric in his hand by the noose`s knot.

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but closed it again. He didn`t look at Altair. Altair couldn`t see his face, had no clue what Malik was thinking, how he felt.

And then, Malik was leaving, sash still in hand, one end of it dragging over the stone floor.

He was gone.

And after what felt like eternity, he was still gone.

Altair stood, still half-expecting a silhouette. Once or twice, he though he saw it, but no.

Malik wasn`t coming back.

Strength was fading from Altair`s legs. Once they lost the ability to fully support, he fell to his knees. Alone.

Something inside was crumbling, he didn`t know what and why, but something was wrong.

Had he misunderstood it all, every bad word, every punch to the gut?

Malik, seething and angry Malik, the same one who had told Altair to bury himself ext time when he`d said he`d gone back to bury the body of Malik`s blood brother.

The one who`d been most hostile, most aggressive...

The one who`d just prevented Altair from finally disappearing for good.

Something in the world was off balance didn`t make sense.

Everything was now jumbled, mixed together and unintelligible.

Altair didn`t know what Malik thought now, didn`t know if something had changed.

He was so helpless against the tide that crushed him, the tears that seemed to appear from nowhere.

He felt too light after all the long months of bearing a heavy heart.

He felt like he had wings, he could feel wind brush against invisible feathers.

It felt wrong.

He didn`t deserve this, didn`t deserve forgiveness.

He felt he`d gotten too hopeful and he feared that nothing had changed.


End file.
